


From one point to another

by BikiniTheSuperPug



Category: Black Cat (Anime & Manga)
Genre: After Creed’s decease, Canon Divergence, Gen, Maybe considered having twisted development for Sephiria, Unrequited Love, against, both material from anime and manga, complicated feelings, focus on Train’s time in Chronos, somehow related with future fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BikiniTheSuperPug/pseuds/BikiniTheSuperPug
Summary: When he received Hades along with the number XIII, Train Heartnet had presumed his life would go the same way as it had long been since he joined Chronos. Alone and driven by the desire for power.When Sephiria selected Train Heartnet to be her knight on the board, she had believed that her plan would remained in focus. It was just bringing another piece into the game, which she had done countless times.But Sephiria was too much of a perfectionist to let anything within reach uncared for. And cats always enjoyed silent affection.
Relationships: Family - Relationship, Mentorship - Relationship, Romance - Relationship, Sephiria Arks & Train Hearnet, Train Heartnet/Sephiria Arks, platonic - Relationship, various
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just got a 6 mark in writing for “unclear meaning”. So you know what happened to the story’s title and summary.

Turning on his back on the bed, Train Heartnet opened his citrine-liked eyes to welcome the boring sight of the gray ceiling above.

Today's Friday, whose morning Train usually spent all on sleeping soundly until noon. However, since six o'clock, he had not been able to force himself back to the land of dreams due to the annoyingly severe downpour. The noise made when each raindrop met the ground and houses' rooftops seemed to be especially interested in slowly torturing his already stressed mind. The forecast had informed this state would likely to last for another week, and there was nothing in this world could frustrate Train more than having to admit his defeat towards this kind of weather.

He needed to be outside, emancipating his sight from these dull four walls. It's natural for cats to roam freely wherever they felt fascinated by, not to remain captive. But what choice did he have ? Few creatures had managed to overcome the fear of getting soaked. Humans and cats were no exception to the majority.

Holding Hades above his head, Train saw his reflection clearly on its polished black surface. Train scowled at it as inhumane as he could, half-heartedly attempting to regain his once cold-blooded expression, one that belonged to Chronos's Number XIII, the Black Cat, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, his golden eyes only burned with exasperation over his hidden powerlessness.

His finger brushed against the pistol's trigger as images re-emerged in his mind. Ash-blonde and platinum gray started to pool into his vision like a devious joke. He briefly shut his eyelids, preventing those images from invading any further.

However, Train immediately flung himself off the bed, eyeballs almost dropped out of its holes and instantly regretted the action as a familiar voice icily poured down his ears when his surroundings were no longer in sight.

_"Good morning,..."_

Those sudden words quickened Train's heartbeats like an electric shock. Panting madly while listening to his own heart pounding as if to throw punches inside the ribcage, Train almost melted down on the floor. At his first rushing attempt to stand up, his legs had miserably failed him, which led to a clumsy fall. The moment his body crashed onto the hard surface, a smily sensation was sent to his panic brain . Beads of sweat were running down the line of his spine like water spilled from the shower, dampening the back of his favorite white shirt.

_No...not again..._

When the clock's minute hand reached the number one, nearly 10 minutes had passed. The ghostly voice had somewhat faded, however, its replacement quickly came to devour Train sanity with brutality, leaving no room for the poor cat to escape...

In his sitting position, Train could feel the floor under his feet liquefying itself, little by little swallowing him. Spreading across the air was a heavy scent of metal. As soon as it filled his nose, his stomach started to churn up, returning all the food being digested to the mouth. Gritting his teeth to stop his own vomit, the sweeper had to silently order his hand to stop trembling. A task which scared him with how challenging it was.

Train didn't need to throw a glance at his underneath to see what was happening. It would always replayed the same scene as countless times before, in the past five years, on this exact day...

A swamp of blood, ...

bubbling and rising,...

With pale hands sprouting from the crimson jelly surface, reaching out to wrap their fingers, which were still glossy in the disgusting familiar fluid, around his ankles...

Hopelessly dragging him, desiring no less than vengeance...

The desperation flooding through where skin and skin contacted was overwhelming. As if to prove them were all but illusions, screams of despair exploded inside Train's head, incising his heart with bestial craziness.

_You know what she is, Train..a heathen. **A demon**_

_You despised her sin, resenting her thirst for retaliation..._

_Blood for blood_

_Lives for lives_

_Yet, no judgment was delivered. No punishment was executed with the power of Hades._

**_"Why...WHY, TRAIN? How could you not do it?"_ **

_You let me die by her hands. Let the fate that connected us be cut with her unholy sword..._

_And you couldn't stand yourself for your own animosity towards her.._

_It should have been you, Black Cat, to baptize me, if what I had committed was ever a crime. You were the only one that was deemed deserving. For all the power, all the bitterness, the pain..._

A head emerged from the blood. The hair color made it glisten under the weak daylight which had somehow sneaked in the room. Blood was trickling on grey strands like rivers of red wine. A gasp escaped its mouth before it hoarsely whispered to Train.

"You are well aware of everything. Still, you made your heart an offering to the fiend."

"Soon, Christ will bring her adjudication over for your dedication."

With that, Creed's corpse violently flung itself out of the swamp. The scene briefly stirred up in Train the feel of a child that first watched a Kraken shooting out of the ocean on cinema. A sight that was both magnificent and horrifying.

Arms of the deceased man started to stretch, joints twisting together with rattling sounds. They clutched and crushed the poor cat's neck to the point of squeezing out the blood. His lungs wished to be blown off as his lower body was being yanked down the awaiting turbid red pit's mouth.

All lives had left Train's limps. Under the threat of such malice and hatred, his muscles almost had given in, ready to be sentenced to death at God's will.

And that was when a murmur tiptoed its way to his ears. Its feminine tone sparked up a figurative strength, manipulating the movement of his body.

For one moment his mind went blank as all fibers of his being acted on their own accords. When consciousness dawned on him again, bewilderingly, Train found himself no longer suffocated. The door of his room had been opened due to the impact of his weight hammering on it. His back now leaned on the banisters outside and sweats still hadn't stopped running. The coldness of Orichalcum in his hands assured his acknowledgment of the cannibal abyss's disappearance.

Pants were slowing their pace as they made their escapes from Train's parted lips. The terror had abandoned his sight, for the time being, followed by its nauseating smell.

But the past hardly had ever favored Train. It breathed into his throat a chemical scent. One that soured his tongue but once had softened his heart.

One that belonged to a special kind of fabric. The kind which was fireproof.

One that his old Chronos black coat still gave off sometimes.

Gazing at Hades in his hand, Train just wanted to put a bullet in his brain, stopping noises from rumbling at the back of his head. They were all so erratic and ravenous. One tried to dominate the others, shouting and killing in the process of finding out which one was going to be the only and final destroyer of Train's will.

But Train had no intention of covering his ears, hitting his head or doing whatever a person would likely do when a storm of inner psychopathic speeches severed his nerves. From previous experience, he was sure this state soon would pass, for the winner of the slaughter had been chosen since the outset.

He scornfully laughed at his own partiality. However, Train himself searched for no reason to go against his choice, despite the increased self-loath. After all, it was not that he hadn't given his best blocking _her_ invasions before.

 _'Persistent as always,'_ his heartstrings twitched in anguish as he felt her presence approaching, once more.

_"Good morning, Heartnet."_

Gracefully, like a serene, yet bottomless ocean which homed thousands of the unknown under its waves, those words slowly deluged his mind, devouring one by one, of the other tumultuous crowd.

The massacre occurred swiftly, in such elegant manner that could make art out of tarnish.

 _'Sinfully beautiful,'_ Train heard himself exclaimed as the nightly blue twin of crystal bled into his vision. Gold and ice interlaced in the lake consisted of flows from present and past, whose movements started drawing lines that delicately traced the frame of a feminine visage.

One Train could not allow himself the peace of forgetting.

Embedded with the emblem of the highest, it was always held prideful and honorable, above despicable temptation and shielded against the disrepute which she was cursed with by fate.

Nevertheless, not until now, when borders had been crossed and his belief had been shattered by her, whose kindness he, with the deepest content of his heart, had laid hopes on, did he come to grudge that hierarchy, that _distance_ to the bone.

_For she had committed the unforgivable, yet, ..._

_What was number Thirteen to judge number One?_

—

Train was sure he had made quite a fuss during his struggling.

Nonetheless, when he came downstairs, both Eve and Sven, who had already gathered in their living room since half an hour ago and obviously had heard the noise, just greeted him with their casual attitude without any complaint. The morning continued the same as many others had before with their current boss of the kitchen, Little Princess, asking Train about what he wanted for breakfast.

"Anything would do, Princess." The sweeper answered lightly with a faint smile.

Nodding, Eve put two slices of bacon on the pan while beginning to turn on the toaster. Despite her facade pretending not to notice Train's dreadfulness, she still had her back turned to him in case she might not be able to keep her mask on well enough. Even his smile, one of his adorably goofiest trades, now looked so forceful somehow. Thinking of it made Eve's heart sink with commiseration.

The air around the three of them was filled with awkwardness. They didn't chat at all, not even commenting on the weather. Sven was staring so intensely at the newspaper's page as if he could bore a hole on it with his right eye. He had stayed on that page since the moment he heard the sound signaling Train's getting out of his room and about to join them, which was 15 minutes ago. Eve herself still indulged in cooking, or at least she was convinced that she appeared so.

Watching the color of the bacons gradually changing from blood-red into deliciously light shade of brown, Eve found reluctance invaded her under the pressure of facing Train again. It would be ridiculous to say that his presence, though not accompanied with his natural cheerfulness, stressed her out.

After all, this was not the first time his depression went out of hand.

It never occurred to Eve that someone of such gleefulness, and occasionally, boisterousness like Train, could be overtaken with any kind of mental illness.

But with only a slight glance at him now, she could tell he was on the verge of breaking. One of his leg was already hung in mid air.

Today was the day people once rejoiced with the dismissal of Creed Diskenth and his organization. A potential evil that threatened to wash the world through blood.

A day that Train himself should have also celebrated, because it was supposed to be the mark of his settlement with the past, forever be done with Black Cat.

Bitterly, just a few moments late, and the story had been driven to a completely unthinkable point, by the least presumable participant.

Creed's lifelong desire was to mold the world into a sickening Eden of his outrageous ideal and twisted soul. To be the new god who supremacy was beyond judgement of any deities ever worshiped by mankind.

On October 19th, this exact day 5 years ago, his godly incarnation had finally come off, perpetually sending him to holy land on which no mortal had ever set foot.

Under the hands of Sephiria Arks.

Countless books had described the divination in distinguished manners and through utmost breathtaking kaleidoscopes of sacredness. For longer than we could remember, humans had not once stopped to be enchanted by the belief in a higher power's existence that directed our every actions and motives, that blew the sail of mankind on our way to reach the next bay of evolution.

Creed had nominated himself for it, the topmost position in godhood to guide his own kind, believing no other could be chosen. Needless to emphasize, he had proven his own merit with what seemed like indisputable might of destruction.

But luck hadn't smiled upon him, for divinity bore no meaning to an atheist.

Of which Sephiria Arks was undoubtedly a textbook example.

Always a loyal soldier, just never a worshipper.

Despite not being a witness to Creed's transformation, Eve was well aware that it must have been horrific beyond words, not at all resembling to any of its theoretical sceneries written in books.

Those memories still played inside her mind vividly to this very moment.

When the trio arrived at the 4th floor where his room was located, Train had rushed to their destination in a grave speed as if death had been hunting for his live. He had been informed about the battle between the two leaders previously and was having his determination pinned down on intervening it to prevent both from meeting their decease.

What they didn't foreseen was to come across the female captain leaving the third floor without hurry.

She walked casually, carrying no weapon with her. Sapphire eyes slightly rounded as they caught the sweepers at the other end of the marble corridor. Still, she said her greeting politely then her pace continued.

Train froze instantly at her appearance. Seconds passed as his breathes were sealed by surprise and confusion. Nevertheless, his following reaction was what caused them all to shock, as well frightening them. Ripples of tremble electrically coursed through his being, covering his body in a cold layer of sweats as the explanation for her laid back attitude surfaced in his mind.

His lower jaw vibrates uncontrollably towards the setting in of a new reality, where the door to a carefree future had been slammed shut, for the past which concealed its key then could never be retouched.

In his throat was born a heavy stone. Its sharp edges bit onto his flesh, making each pulse a gash against razors.

The words was stinging on the tip of his tongue, but could not break into sounds. His gold irises shrank themselves, trying to hide from the assault of blood threads spearing through the white field.

'Her job was done.'

From that moment of realization, everything was nothing but a blurry flash of actions. The pause to regain consciousness over instinct only came when Sven stepped in the room which Sephiria had exited after accomplishing her mission. And this time, it was Sven's turn to astonish the sweeper girl.

Not as fast as her two brothers, Eve became the last person of the three to arrive. Before she could go pass the giant doors' to lay her feet inside, Sven's left arm had protectively blocked her way. He staggered to her side, showing his back to her as if putting up a body shield, taking advantage of their height disparity to blind her view of what was in front of them.

Hardly had she intended to inquire on his reasons behind it when a loud gulp was heard. Sven's final grain of composure slipped away entirely as though a switch had been flicked. His body was shaken with each gush of his vomit streaming out like waterspout. However, even the fluid's nauseating smell could not erase another thick aura which must have occupied in the room much sooner than their visit. An ironlike reek that befriended a lot of unhappy memories locked at the back of her mind.

The smell of blood. The amount that run rivers, blanketing the place in red.

Sven's every nerves, organs, every inch of his sanity had refused to digest the undeniableness that such brutality was originated from a human being. From a creature given the same heart as his.

One limb to another, the grasp of truth rendered through Eve, so violently and erratically it matched the pace of wildfire on a vast hay field. Her hands anchored on both side with invisible weight while the walls of her throat struggling to clench tightly on an upcoming outburst, of cries or of her last night's dinner, she could not tell.

Her conscience weakly raised its defense in discreet for the only person who could be responsible for this misdeed, but the final look on Train's face as he stormed out of the room summed everything up.

Her answers to those unvoiced questions had displayed themselves.

—

"Princess, your cooking just keeps getting better."

Train's words acted as a snap of present, saving the teenage girl from her melancholy. Her ears took moments to embrace them, though. Human's brain received information at its fastest mainly through images from our eyes. So while the sounds might have not been in touch with her thoroughly, Train's leftovers of his breakfast did.

The sight spoke for itself in her voice, added with a halfhearted pout. "And your lies just keep needing improvement."

She regretted her remark instantly as she caught Train's laugh landed lightly, the way a repressed sigh would.

Sven growled under his breath, knowing his partner unintentional reaction should strike Eve with more somber than anything, but Train would likely to be too lowly drowned in his own pain to sense it.

'Damn it,' Sven cursed impersonally. He felt guilty for being useless when his friend suffered, at the same time crazed about putting a bullet on his head to emancipate them all from his abyss of anguish.

It was not that they hadn't endeavored to their exhaustion to mend things back for him.

However, without clarification, Train just swept their efforts away. Like how a wound pulsated at its brush against salt, he always angered by their concern, always flung himself about when they offered him chances to share his agony.

Wasn't he who talked about moving on with the burden of the past? Where was the guy that was annoyingly confident with his decision, idiotically jumping into actions for the fun of the unpredictable, savoring the taste of freedom in place of his lunch since their budget had never been his interest?

What had happened, happened. Life went on, no matter how mournfully the days before were. To lost in hatred towards old misfortunes or attempting to turn an already spun wheel would do no one good. Train, better than anyone, should have carved that lesson into his flesh by now.

What was he grieving for, to be honest ? Creed didn't deserve that monstrous treatment, surely, but he fairly could not hope for a brighter one, taking his killing spree on Sephiria's comrades into account. Sephiria being ruthless to her targets was not a fact known yesterday either, according to Train's own experience.

As he thought of the young captain, his reasons abruptly became irresolute.

Her wrongdoing that day had wiped out spotlessly the definition of moral lines.

And when they met her, she was showing nothing but ease on her face.

That Sephiria and the one who they welcomed in their house a few months prior could easily be taken for two distinguished individuals. Somehow, Sven wished they genuinely had been.

If his wish had been true, Train would have not strayed this severely off his happiness.

It had been his first time seeing someone so devastated, when he watched Train crumble down as every screen in the control room showed his despair. Creed's helpless screams cutting across the air blended with his desperate cries.

Saya was his dearest friend. Creed was his other self, one that fell into obscurity. Both of them, he couldn't save.

However, he had gotten over Saya's departure, and so too would it be with Creed's, eventually.

Then, there's solely one left to haunt him.

'What is Sephiria-san to you, Train?'

Words were really the greatest magic of humanity. Train's aimless footsteps to the door were immediately buried where they were at. Eve's question was a piercing spear, having dug into his soul and mercilessly wrecked his evasion from reality.

Eve bit on her lower lip. Her eyes were burned with a blazing flame.

'Ignore me if you want, but I won't let you hide anymore, Train. It's time the writhe stopped, for all of us. I will force out an escape, whether you go mad or not. At least after so long, you will finally decide on what to do with your sanity.'

'Wasting no time being gooey,' it was more than just minutes had gone by til the silent was erased, to Sven's amazement and relief. He couldn't have guessed Eve was already that agile and discerning. Within him surged up both pride and vague sadness, knowing the days of her innocence was being rapidly shortened.

But what bewildered him most was Train's surrender. Almost as if he had been waiting for this, instinctively and earnestly in silence.

Eve was right, the tiredness had far passed their durability. And now, Train, without hideouts, was bound to face what had been going on for the past five years.

'You remind me of her most of the time.' Sloppily, Train turned around to face them. His black pants should have covered his shivers, but Sven's eye darting at them in affliction had said otherwise.

Eve found tears brimming, threatening to burst out when his pair of swirling gold reflected her coral shade.

So frail, so fragmented, yet hope still lingered. Because finally, he could no longer avoid acknowledging a way out of his own cravenness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

“What is Sephiria-san to you, Train ?”

Train was not surprised by the question.

His intuition had been pinching at the inner of his chest, informing him of what was on its way.

The question followed by his memories of her had stayed a frequent guess to his heart since a faraway day in their sharing past, without his awareness.

He had always blindly and restlessly pursued the answer, only to realize it was changed at the last minutes. The thought of being outsmarted by Sephiria’s cunningness had crossed his mind more times than he could count. However, in the end, it would remain just another of his silent confusions.

One that he couldn’t gather enough courage to voice out. One that Train knew his captain would effortlessly avoid by giving him a more complicated puzzle to solve with her words.

It’s bewildering how he was still trapped in her maze even after deserting Chronos. Her talent to manipulate people had never failed to cause conflicts within him. Usually, between the impulsiveness to act on her plan and his frustration towards her mischievous brilliance, he would bias the latter.

Sephiria’s clever. And those who were clever tended to take things which they could easily achieve for granted. Additionally, imagining another kind of expression other than serenity on her face was also an experience Train found pleasurable.

It’s just never occurred to him before, that being unneeded by her could be such a fatal blow.

That day on Creed’s island, when he saw her walking towards the three of them with surprisingly calmness, the hollowness of his realization hit him.

Not only had her mission been accomplished, but also she had crossed him out of her consideration, unhesitatingly and completely. His lives, The lives of those in the Sweepers’ alliance, didn’t add weights to her conscience in the least.

The fact had sent chills down his spines while setting fire to his heart.

His final witnessing at the control room confirmed the abyss she made for him. There was nothing left for him to defense her, anymore.

To defense what he had deemed so ideally, for both of them.

Nonetheless, he discovered that redrawing her images in blood grudges was easier said than done. The impasse in his own ambivalent war had broken and led him further into despair, day by day.

He had to choose, to face her as something, someone in their story.

He had to write an end for it.

So let’s once more race back to the lines where it all began.

————————

The letter of acceptance and the number XIII came unexpectedly.

Train had firmly assumed he failed the test, since no assassin would let go of their targets, despite them being women or children.

But one morning, in the middle of that year winter, his order of summoning arrived.

The order said he had to be at Chronos’s headquarter at exactly 8AM, which both annoyed and unconsciously, urged him to the point he made mess out of everything.

He remembered calling Karl in his rush, asking him to borrow one of his ties although he still hadn’t figured out how to properly wear it. Fortunately, knowing him as well as Karl did, the major instantly picked the boy up to his house to help with the clothes.

Train’s hair was spiky and unfamiliar with attention. So when the major insisted on having it carefully combed, Train couldn’t help but putting up a protest. However, his knitted eyebrows were the only speakers. Karl was a persistent man. He left people little room for discussion and Train had never been a persuasive person with words.

The moment he departed with the major at the headquarter’s entrance, Train could feel waves of uneasiness coming to their wakes. He took a deep breath before innerly laughed at his baseless nervousness. Why feared when his talent had been recognized ? Chronos would not set eyes on incompetent individuals. It’s their decision that enabled him to have any reason to be here.

This would be another step closer to a greater power, for which Train was seeking.

The ceremony was supposed to take place at the assembly room. But when he pushed open the giant door, the sight welcoming him was blunt for its scarcely harboring of people. There were a few guards standing in lines at two sides of the room, and the main stand stayed solitary under the fresh sunlights darting through the transparent glass of the grand twin arch windows.

Train’s steps came to a halt as his eyes caught a movement at the other end of the room. However, his caution soon proved to be unnecessary, as the vice commander, Berze Rochefort, emerged from the dark. The man was a force to be reckoned with, which Train could tell without difficulty through a glance at his physical traits. Accordingly, Train lowered his guard, understanding that they were able to peacefully greet each other because the older man was holding no ill will.

“I see that you have had your preparation well instructed.” Berze commented on Train’s formal look, secretly giving it a comparison with his choice of clothing when they first met. The vice commander’s voice was nonchalant.

Unsure of what to say, Train decided to let the subject drop with a slight nod. Not that it mattered much to Berze. His attention had already shifted to a figure that was approaching where they stood.

Train followed the blond man’s example and his swirling golden eyes were touched by gentle blue.

The figure was a woman. She had a similar manner to Berze, yet veiled with more elegance. Her quick paces soundlessly brought her to the two man’s place. Berze briefly exchanged look with her before respectfully bowing to return to a corner besides the main stand. His former position towards Train now was occupied by the newcomer.

Never in his life had Train beheld a beauty which could force him to admit its preeminence to that of his mother, until then.

His ears let some of her words fall out as he froze under her scanning gaze. However, the name Sephiria Arks was memorized in an instant.

Strands of wavy ash blond emitted auras under the bright sun lights as their owner’s voice resounded across the room. Each word came out in grace, yet enriched with power. Her speech instilled Train in his place and, as noble as a queen’s knighting sword, bestowed on him his title, a Time Guardian.

The movement her fingers made when she presented him with Hades was beyond delicacy. Despite the perplex towards his own excessive observation, Train’s eyes kept gluing on her every gesture without control. Helpfully, the shiny surface of Hades erased his doubt on whether or not his facade had dropped. Reflected on the pistol’s body was a stern expression, showing nothing but seriousness.

So this is the infamous captain of Chronos’s most elite unit in battle. A lady that was gifted with all quintessences. Through his experience, she must be a few years older than him, though her appearance was deceitful.

The longer he studied her, the more erratic waves of the unknowns woke up at the pit of his stomach.

Pleasant was not the word he would pick to describe them. But ‘flutter’ was a fine settlement.

Below eagerness and above indifference.

\------

The ceremony had ended.

Watching from the darkness of the room, Berze had his chance to ruminate over everything in detail without fear of disruption.

He could reach his conclusion quickly with the boy. Train Heartnet was impressed, not in the way Berze, as a brother, found likable. Nevertheless, it was still within his limit to accept, maybe to allow himself some pride, too.

That could be seen as a good sign as well. According to Karl, Train was not an expressional person, even if it was only with his eyes. And those eyes had shown a lot today.

Possibly, somehow Train Heartnet had felt it. The string of similarities in his beginning and Sephiria’s.

Both of them knew little of what was called “consanguinity”.

Sephiria’s father had sacrificed himself in the war against Taoists. Although her mother was able to stay by their daughter's side longer than him, Viviane still didn’t get the blessing to see the Sephiria of the years after her 10th birthday.

Growing up under the care of the Rochefort, Sephiria was kindly treated and favorited by Berze’s own parents, but she had never once said the words that they longed for. She bade her goodbye with them at the age of 12. From that moment on, their reunions got scarcer as time flew by. Now Berze became the solely news bearer to his parent on her wellbeing, although that task was gradually being proven challenging.

Tragedy had unfolded upon Train Heartnet’s family when the young man was only ten.

Zagine was famous for his code of not engaging in whatever involving people with children, so Train’s parent’s assassination must have been proposed to the hitman while containing no information about the boy’s existence. Miraculously, as ruthless and merciless as Zagine, when the question of morality cropped up, he still chose to answer with what abided by a human’s nature.

Depending on how hardened Train had been during his time at Karl’s place, there was no doubt he would make quite a name for himself as an eraser. Zagine would have smirked victoriously had he ever had the chance to see this seemingly successful outcome.

Berze honestly hoped that much in common would increase the prospect of Sephiria’s plan, their plan, coming off. No matter how cruel and despicable they must be in order to exploit Train, Berze would not withdraw nor allow Sephiria to waver in this. Although that case was the least to happen, he would rest more assured if everything was laid within anticipation.

His sister’s throne was being put under great jeopardy. Above all, both of them understood what would eventually go down with it.

_Sephiria’s appointment as number I didn’t sit well with a majority of members._

_The Time Guardians had received severe damage after the war against Taoist, the same as other parts of Chronos. The demise of its former captain, the previous head of house Arks, had temporarily created a wishful vacancy for many power-hungry eyes. However, the appearance of the heir to the Arks family soon replaced those ambitions with immense discontentment._

_Klaussius Arks, the deceased number I, had a daughter, a gift from the secret love between him and his vice commander, Viviane Lane. Since Viviane had survived the war, according to his will, she would then be given the right over his position as the family’s head until the coming of age of Sephiria. The sprout also had legalized the Rochefort’s guardianship over their child in case of misfortune in the future._

_Leaving the important papers in the protectionof the family’s lawyer, Viviane felt it safe enough to steadily press on the council of Elders about her daughter’s succession to her father’s title. Viviane promised the Elders her husband family’s allegiance, along with the support from their allies, in return, Sephiria would be provided with all necessities and must be selected as a candidate for number I when the time came. Her training would be done properly with the swordsmanship of the Arks._

_In short, Sephiria’s bound to be the blade of Chronos to her death._

_With too much chaos already at hand and taking Sephiria’s genetic healing ability, which was passed onto her by her parents, into account, the Elders did see the benefits of this deal worthy of their agreement. Despite their want to banish house Arks from those of principals, its resources were still a crucial force for the remaining of Chronos in this weakening period, not to mention what the future would bring. Finally, after a few punishments were conducted on those who opposed by Berze, Sephiria’s fate was set._

_Fortunately, Sephiria was a quick learner. The keenness in her thinking at an early age revealed a great potential of leadership, which was very much similar to her father. Enhanced physical traits also enabled her to master the Arks Ryuukenjutsu with grave accuracy. By burning the process, Sephiria had already overpowered most of her targets, along with predecessors, before the age of 17. Consequently, just one year later, the Elders, not even care to be concerned by other candidates, without delay entrusted the position of number I to Sephiria._

_4 years..._ , Berze darkly frowned at the reminiscence, _nearly half of a decade had flown by since that day and the grudge still ran deep in the hearts of those malcontents._

_Needless to tell, the wrath towards the Elders’ decision had never been so vicious. The rest of Chronos was fueled with rage. However, when it came to house Arks and Rochefort, no one could declare their victory with certainty. As a result, the dissent remained in silence, temporarily freeing the young captain and her vice commander from severe bloodshed for a short two-year period._

_With roots of hostility staying uncut, the wind had again risen and the time for turmoil had come. Mouths were watering while claws were being sharpened. But it was going against the singleness of minds among their foes which rendered Berze sleepless, not the number. Those starving, malicious fangs had united into a solid, heartless blade._

_The headsman in whom their enemies believed to carry out the “noble” task must be none of the ordinary. A person that would not be struck with the havoc of vengeance after the job was done. One that could guarantee his allies and himself the safety to later savor their piece in the cake of power._

_This must be a match of cheating. A game in which cunningness and callousness would decide the winner._

_And number XIII would be the piece to deliver those meanings for Sephiria on this chess board._


End file.
